


Wham, Bam, Thank You, Nate

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: “You look weird” is the first thing Nate says to him, nose scrunched up in distaste as they skate up to each other at centre ice.
Relationships: Tyson Barrie/Nathan MacKinnon
Comments: 7
Kudos: 145





	Wham, Bam, Thank You, Nate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortymaliks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/gifts).



> This is literally all Fortymaliks fault. And the video/pics from Nate and Tyson all cute at warm ups. I honestly am only here because Tyson Bear/T Boobs/ Barrie is a leaf now. Soz Avs fans but it is what it is.
> 
> Huge thank you as always to my beloved Elle for the super awesome  
> beta xo

It’s not like he expected it to be. 

Well, it is? But it’s also not as bad as he predicted, so maybe he built it up more than he should have. Maybe JT’s hand on his shoulder and his “it’ll hurt, but you’ll like it” pep talk as they got off the plane wasn’t as awkwardly unhelpful as he thought. 

Maybe. Maybe it’s just the smile on Nate’s face when they see each other across the ice with Tyson in his Leafs’ white and blue for the first time that shakes Tyson from his thoughts. This game won’t be so bad. It’s just one of a hundred or more where he won’t be playing by Nate’s side. Won’t be sharing a car ride home filled with Nate’s awful music choices or deep silence depending on how the team scored. 

“You look weird” is the first thing Nate says to him, nose scrunched up in distaste as they skate up to each other at centre ice. 

“You look the same, as unpretty as always,” Tyson chirps back, badly. 

Nate still laughs, though. Nudges his shoulder against Tyson’s. 

“You’ve been there how long and still no one’s taught you how to chirp?”

Tyson shrugs. “I was with you for years and learned nothing, so.”

Nate’s smile dims a little, not quite reaching his eyes like it was before. 

Tyson looks away, catches his own face supersized on a poster and feels his lips quiver. Has to glance down at his skates and catch his breath. 

“Wanna make this interesting?” 

Tyson swallows hard, makes himself look over at Nate with a smirk that feels as forced as he’s sure it looks, raises a brow. 

Nate licks over his lips and shifts in that little bit closer as Matts skates past. Just what Tyson needs. Another reminder of where he is. Who he doesn’t play for—or with—anymore.

Tyson shifts his attention back to Nate, whose cheeks look pinker than they did a second ago. It’s not as if they’re really doing much but gliding, so there’s no reason for how rosy in the cheeks he is. 

_Oh._

Tyson knows this look. Understands what Nate means about making it interesting without Nate having to say any more. 

“We aren’t flying out until tomorrow. I don’t know if I can stay out all night, though. We’re sort of working on team cohesion right now,” Tyson offers. Thinks about how long after the game and the aftermath he’ll have to stay. 

Nate shrugs. “We can make do. Same rules as always?”

“Don’t forget to bring your knee pads with you after the final buzzer, Mack. Can’t have you complaining about aches and pains when you have my dick in your mouth,” Tyson chirps, smiling to himself as he skates around to his side of the ice with Nate’s good-natured guffaws echoing in his ears.

///

They win, even if it’s basically all down to Freddie in the last forty, but Tyson is still riding the high of his first goal against his old team. The team that didn’t want him anymore—but he’s still thankful he went for more than just a pick or two. The team that had given him pause every summer and trade deadline, wondering if it was his head on the chopping block, only to finally get the call when, for the first time, he wasn’t worried about a trade at all. 

He’s feeling good after a few drinks at a bar the Leafs always end up at when they’re here, and from seeing Gabe and his baby girl in the hall after the game. It wasn’t expected, and Tyson didn’t think they’d have time to catch up. He’s so glad Gabe made the drive, claiming he was up anyway with the strange hours Linnea keeps, and it lets Melissa have some extra sleep. 

It’s something that Tyson himself could do with, as he leaves the bar earlier than half the team he’d been drinking with. Mitch boo-ing as Tyson waved them off, Mo begging him to have one drink more. It’s nice, already feeling wanted. Liked. The lightness in the locker room transferring to how they play and communicate both on and off the ice. It’s barely been a week and Tyson _likes_ how it feels. He’s still tired, though, stress and lack of downtime getting to him, so he doesn’t feel too bad cutting out early.

Admittedly, Tyson’s yawning as he makes his way into the hotel, not paying all that much attention to his surroundings as he heads to the elevator bank. It’s not as if he’s forgotten the conversation he had with Nate at warmups but he’s also familiar with how Nate can react after a loss. Shutting himself off from everyone and hiding away at home if he’s played particularly bad. Drinking a few beers with the boys and then heading home to drink a few more on his own if it’s the team not clicking as a whole. 

Still, he’s surprised when he catches sight of Nate's broad shoulders in that awful navy sweater with the holes in the cuff for his thumbs. He’s got an old Mooseheads cap on that’s badly faded with loose threads frayed at the front. It’s a lame attempt at a disguise, but it somehow always seems to work when they’re home. Well, when this was Tyson’s home. When Nate lifts his head and the light manages to catch on his face, Tyson can see a familiar smirk. The familiarity of it makes Tyson’s chest ache.

“You forgot, didn’t you,” Nate says, more a statement than a question. 

Tyson rolls his eyes, reaches around Nate and presses the up button. Being this close he can see the tired lines around Nate's grey-blue eyes. He still smells the same, when Tyson finally breathes in. Like the soap at the arena showers, that weird woodsy cologne that Nate's last girlfriend bought him that he only wears when he’s trying to hook up. It’s not as if Tyson isn’t a sure thing here. He’s a man of his word, and a bet’s a bet even if they didn’t actually speak of the terms. It’s not as if they haven’t done this before.

“Nope,” Tyson lies, because, well celebrating with his new team and trying to continue building on the good vibe they’re finally creating was his top priority tonight. “Thought you might have,” he adds, steps into Nate’s space in a way that has Nate grinning. “We won, after all.”

Nate snorts. “Only because of your goalie,”

The door opens and they step in, Tyson hitting the button for his floor as he scoffs at Nate. “Did you miss the fact that we were up by one and then two at the end?”

Nate shrugs. “Didn’t miss your goal.”

Tyson isn’t sure if it’s because of the way the elevator jolts on its way up or the way Nate looks at him from under full, dark lashes that has his stomach swooping. 

It’s probably both.

“It was a team effort.”

Nate laughs, this soft, fragile thing as he crowds Tyson against the mirrored wall. His big hands finding Tyson’s, fingertips twining in between the spaces of Tyson’s own.

“So you don’t want me to make good on our bet?” Nate asks, presses in close, lips barely grazing Tyson’s cheek, breath hot against the corner of his mouth. 

“No, no, I mean, yeah. Yes,” Tyson spits out, leans in and just as his lips meet Nate’s, the door dings and opens and they shift apart.

Nate steps out like nothing just occurred, while Tyson has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a steadying breath before stepping into the hall.

Nate is looking unbearably smug as he waits for Tyson, so Tyson doesn’t spare a second before heading toward his room. He’s fairly certain Nate will follow. 

///

Tyson empties out his pockets and plugs in his phone after they step inside. Makes sure his alarm is set early enough to pack and get breakfast and loosens his tie.

He can feel Nate watching him from where he stands in the middle of the room, a few steps away from the bed. Tyson’s glad he only turned the entryway light on. The little amount of light making it easier somehow as he hangs his jacket in the small cupboard, unbuckles his belt, rolling it up in his hands. He slips his shoes off and knows that Nate will have already done the same—they’re both good Canadian boys—and ponders whether Nate will mind if he leaves his socks on. The air does run a little cold in here.

“I’m not fucking you with your socks on, Bear.”

Tyson sighs, brings his foot up to rest on the opposite knee to slide the first one off.

“Who said anything about fucking, _Mack_ ,” Tyson snips back, pokes his tongue out at Nate who’s sitting on the bed, arms stretched behind him, legs spread wide, making his dark jeans fit tight over his ridiculous thighs.

God, he’s so stupidly hot.

“Well, I mean, you got the goal and I didn’t, so really, it’s your choice.” 

Tyson starts to unbutton his dress shirt with a frown because that hadn’t actually occurred to him. He doesn’t _have_ to skate tomorrow and he does have a few days off before they head to Detroit… but Sheldon also wants to work on a few things so there’ll be practice. Tyson’s finally feeling like he _fits_ so maybe the good, hard fucking he wants isn’t the greatest idea.

Fingering… well it’s not like _that’s_ going to mess with his on-ice capabilities. Or maybe Nate’s mouth. It’s nice to know he still has options. 

Tyson concentrates his gaze on undoing his shirt as he tries to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Your hands, they looked good tonight. Nearly got a few past Freds. Maybe you could put them to better use in me instead?” 

He hears Nate’s huff of an answer that’s more a stifled laugh than anything. Asshole.

Tyson shrugs his shirt off, turns to fit it on a hanger and lets out this long sigh as Nate’s lips meet the nape of his neck in a soft kiss. He hadn’t even heard Nate get up. He leans back into the heat of Nate behind him as the hands he was just speaking of come to rest on either side of his hips. Nate’s thumbs brushing back and forth as Nate drops kiss after kiss across Tyson’s bare shoulders. Tyson has missed this. Being close. Being touched with care and want. Being touched by Nate.

It was a long summer.

He doesn’t know his new team well enough for anything like this. Isn’t sure he wants anything like this with any of them even if it was available. This stupid sex-bet thing that started in Nate’s rookie year and should have stopped but seemed to intensify at differing points during the seasons since. It should definitely be over now, they aren’t even on the same team, let alone in the same country anymore, and yet….

There’s no way Tyson’s going to remind Nate of this. No way he’s going to ask Nate to stop.

Instead, he lets Nate drag him backwards. Laughs as Nate turns them, those big hands travelling warm up over Tyson’s stomach to his chest, a firm push having him fall. Tyson half sits up in time to see Nate just standing there staring at him. Lifts a single brow.

“Is it my turn for a show?” 

Nate just blinks and then crosses his arms over his body, reaches for the bottom of his sweater, drags it up and over his head in one slow, move. He drops it to the floor and Tyson is fairly certain Nate flexes his pecs like Terry in _Brooklyn 99._

Tyson may or may not nearly swallow his tongue.

Nate’s body is a work of art. Not that Tyson would _ever_ let Nate know that.

“That all you got?” he chirps, tapping his fingers over the bedspread, blood already pumping faster in his veins in anticipation of what's to come. 

Nate doesn’t say a word, just flicks open the buttons on his jeans one by one.

His hair curls that slight bit forward, and Tyson’s fingers twitch. Itch to touch. He had a semi before and with all of this? He’s getting harder by the second. 

“Show off,” he decidedly does _not_ whimper as Nate eases his jeans down his legs, the light from behind making the soft hairs on his thighs burn gold. 

Nate struggle getting them over his ankles, which Tyson bites his lip not to react to, and finally Nate’s naked and Tyson didn't even notice Nate taking off his boxers. 

Unless he wasn’t wearing any which… _fuck._

Nate drops to his knees between Tyson’s thighs, palms resting hot over Tyson’s skin. He’s looking at where his hands are, dragging them slowly up and down and that little bit farther _in_ with each pass. Tyson is already having trouble breathing but this? If Nate doesn’t do _something_ he may just pass out. 

“Where exactly do you want my hands?” Nate asks, his voice taking this deep, husky tone that sends sparks down Tyson’s spine.

“Everywhere,” Tyson breathes before he can actually take control of his mouth.

Nate doesn’t even laugh, which shows Tyson how suddenly _real_ this has become, and his chest does that twisty achy thing again. Feelings. _Ugh._

Tyson reaches behind himself for a pillow, has to twist a bit to get one, nearly knocking Nate in the head. He throws it at Nate’s face anyway, because Nate is looking at him in some kind of way, and maybe some of that blood that was drifting south comes back up to flush his cheeks with heat.

“I told you to bring your pads but since you forgot, can’t have you blaming me for your next loss.” 

Nate hums, puts the pillow down on the floor anyway, his eyes flickering up to Tyson and they’re so dark, no matter how little light there is in the room. 

“You still have the—”

Tyson nods over at his bag. “Same pocket, left and inside.”

Nate stretches up and over Tyson as he gets up, more like a cat than anything else as he sticks close. His hands skating over Tyson’s skin until he’s cradling Tyson’s face in his palms. Thumbs pressing in at Tyson’s jaw before one slides down, brushing over Tyson’s lips. Tyson can’t help himself, leans up the tiniest amount and sweeps his tongue out, drags Nate’s thumb into his mouth and _sucks._

Nate’s groan is probably too loud for the hotel room, but it doesn’t stop Tyson echoing it when Nate’s hips thrust forward and Tyson can _feel_ how hard Nate’s become.

He releases Nate’s thumb with a ridiculous sounding pop, threads his fingers through Nate’s short hair and drags him in for a kiss instead. It’s wet and sloppy and takes his arousal up past eleven, especially with how Nate keeps rocking against him, barely keeping his body from blanketing Tyson’s own. Nate is good at many things, but damn does Tyson love the way he kisses. He loses himself in it for a moment. In the way Nate always seems to know what pressure Tyson needs, how much tongue is enough for Tyson to chase his mouth, demanding more. 

Tyson draws his fingertips down Nate’s spine and yeah, maybe he thought a blowjob was fine a few hours ago on the ice, and maybe he even more recently talked himself into believing Nate’s fingers would be enough, but now? Now with Nate covering him and touching him like this and just _Nate_ here as a whole?

Who cares if he skates funny and everyone on the Leafs’ bench will wonder why. 

“Nate, _please,_ ” Tyson whines and he doesn’t care that he does so. He’s still got his stupid underwear on and a handful of Nate’s ass and he _wants._

Nate pulls back, rubs his thumb over Tyson’s cheek, leaving a wet smear in its wake. 

“It’s okay. I got you,” Nate murmurs, pressing his lips to Tyson’s once more before they meet again on his jaw, then his neck and collarbone.

Tyson is going to die here after finally starting to make things click as a Leaf. He’s going to die here, in his old club’s town, and he is somehow okay with this, as long as it is death from Nathan MacKinnon’s sweet mouth. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he curses softly, shifting his hips up as Nate teases first his left nipple then his right with tongue and the lightest brush of teeth. Nate looks up at him, and Tyson swears he can hear the chirp about “language” from when they started quoting it at each other after watching that Avengers movie and both further developing their crushes on Chris Evans. 

Nate continues on his merry way, leaving wet marks over Tyson’s chest and stomach. His fingertips curling under the elastic of Tyson’s briefs as he makes a big show of pulling them down slowly, his torturous survey of Tyson’s skin taking a brief stop as he has to lean back and drag the material from Tyson’s feet.

Tyson traps Nate between his thighs when he goes to shift away farther. Tyson’s heart is beating fast, and the idea of Nate leaving just for a moment to get some slick is a moment too much. He’s hard and he’s hot and he needs Nate. He needs him now and without anything between them. 

“Okay, okay,” Nate reassures him, rubbing his palms over Tyson’s thighs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Oops, maybe he said some of that out loud.

Tyson reaches out and makes a grabby gesture at Nate and doesn't worry about it. Nate chuckles but comes closer, lets Tyson cup his cheek, turns and kisses the palm of Tyson’s hand. Tyson’s chest ache expands, and he grabs and pulls Nate down again, kisses him hard and fast as Tyson’s free hand slides between them, curls around where Nate is just as into this as he is. 

Nate jolts a little at Tyson’s first unsteady stroke, bats Tyson’s hand out of the way and somehow gets them both pressed together in a tight grip. Tyson’s always been one to get wet easily, something Nate has chirped him about in the past, but now it only helps to make the way that much easier. The slick of precome taking a dry drag into something so much _more._ Dirty, almost, as Nate curses and Tyson whimpers as Nate gets a better hold. Tyson’s hips pulse as he groans into Nate’s mouth, fingernails cut into the Nate’s back as he pulls him closer still. Like even his body knows he can’t stand for them to be apart. 

“Nate, Nate, _Nate,_ ” Tyson whispers against Nate’s cheek. Grazes his teeth over Nate’s earlobe, relishing in the groan and stutter of Nate’s hips it causes.

Nate bites at Tyson’s bottom lip, sucks it back into his mouth, for a moment soothing the sting before he’s nipping at Tyson’s jaw. Tyson’s barely breathing just making these sounds he can’t control as Nate jacks them both off, the sensitive underside of the head of his cock rubbing deliciously against the mushroom tip off Nate’s own. It’s almost too much as Nate shifts them to their sides, presses their chests close but gives himself more room to move his hand. Tyson keeps drawing Nate’s mouth back to his own, sweet kisses that turn filthy in fits and starts according to how Nate’s hand moves. 

Tyson doesn’t want to stop kissing. Doesn’t want to lose the taste of Nate from his mouth. Of Nate’s big hands and their stupid hockey calluses from his skin. Of Nate being everywhere and all over all at once. Tyson’s hand drifts back down to Nate’s ass, drags him in, in time with Nate’s thrusts and where his hand is just holding them together now. Tyson throws his leg over Nate’s hip, and it changes the angle and has Nate keening, coming wetly between them. 

“Fuck, Fuck, Tys, _Tyson_!” Nate groans Tyson’s name and then he’s pushing Tyson onto his back before he even knows it’s what Nate wants from him.

He’s hot and sweaty from where they were pressed so close, and his skin pebbles as Nate shifts away, between his legs, and oh.

Nate’s got his hands framing Tyson’s hips as he leans in, mouths at the tip of Tyson’s dick like a wet kiss before he’s taking Tyson deep, like he doesn’t have any issue with his gag control.

It’s so fucking hot, and maybe he says that out loud, because Nate hums and it seems to be somewhat in agreement, but the sound vibrates around Tyson’s cock and fuck, _fuck._

He’s coming with a shaky and somewhat late tap on Nate’s shoulder, and Nate swallows him down anyway so maybe it doesn’t matter all that much. Tyson’s shivering with every pass of Nate’s tongue over his skin as his dick gives a weak pulse and dribble of come down his shaft. Nate's licking Tyson’s dick clean from his balls to the tip and it’s filthy and so _Nate_ that Tyson only shoves at him to stop when he tries to get between Tyson’s thighs, and no. Nate knows if he wants to eat Tyson out he has to do that first because for some reason Tyson’s more sensitive there than anywhere else and he's way past the age where he can get it up again without some food or an hour or so.

He eventually coaxes Nate up the bed, gets them settled beside each other as their breathing returns to normal and feeling returns to Tyson’s toes. 

It’s Nate that kisses him first. Leans in and brushes their noses together in a move that’s probably too sweet for two ex-teammates who make stupid blow-job bets on who gets the first goal. There’s a lot going on for Tyson to handle. To be even able to attempt to parse, so when Nate drags him in with a hand on his cheek and gentles the way he’s sucking on Tyson’s lip again, Tyson lets him. 

He relaxes into the kiss. Lets Nate take the lead of something so slow and sweet it almost makes Tyson forget that they won’t be doing this again for a long time. Almost.

“Ew, you taste like spunk,” Tyson whines, wiping at his lips, at a smile that doesn’t seem to want to turn off.

Nate wiggles his brows and looks like even more of an idiot than usual. “Well, it is _your_ spunk so if it doesn’t taste good that’s _your_ fault.”

“I’m just saying,” Tyson starts, wiggling closer into the cradle of Nate’s stupidly big arms. Relaxes further as Nate pulls him in, lets Tyson throw a leg over his thigh. 

“You were just saying?” Nate prompts as Tyson rubs his cheek over the hard plane of Nate’s chest. Eyelids fluttering because, well… he was tired before all this and now that he’s pretty much had the last of his energy sucked out of his dick, he’s ready to pass out. 

He yawns loudly before answering. “I have no idea. Something about diet maybe, fruit? I’m trying to snuggle with you here, MacKinnon. It’s quiet time. Shh.”

He feels more than sees Nate smile, lips pressed to Tyson’s forehead, more on his damp curls than skin. 

“All right, Bear. All right.”

Tyson thinks about asking Nate to stay, but he’s asleep before he can get the words out.

///

Tyson knew Nate would be gone when he woke up. Nate's never done sleepovers in any of the times they’ve done this in the past. Being on different teams wasn’t going to change that, Tyson knows. 

Still, it would have been nice to at least say goodbye. 

He sees the note when he puts a coffee on and laughs stupidly loud as he folds it up, puts it safely inside his wallet.

_“Good for one double double and a box of sour cream timbits and ONLY sour cream timbits with THE Nathan MacKinnon of Tim Horton’s Hockey Cards fame._

_P.S. same bet again when I’m in Toronto? xx”_

**Author's Note:**

> Also it’s my birthday today so I kinda am keeping this as my ability to actually write a thing this year as a present to my self. And Ginny xo


End file.
